


Mind my wicked words

by homobirb



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Akechi is a vampire but there's literally no world-building surrounding it, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Anal Sex, Biting, M/M, he's a vampire and everyone just accepts it, no beta we die like men, top!akechi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-05
Updated: 2018-10-05
Packaged: 2019-07-25 12:00:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16197113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/homobirb/pseuds/homobirb
Summary: The detective nuzzles against his fingers and looks up at him through thick, dark lashes."Shall we continue this upstairs?"





	Mind my wicked words

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from [Gooey by Glass Animals](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jeo3an2M_Lo)

Akechi's presence in Leblanc became a regular phenomenon—enough that Akira found the café felt distinctly emptier without him. His day always got brightened when he walked through the door, home from school and after-school confidant leveling to find the brown haired boy sitting at the bar, giving him a small smile. The smile Akechi wore on TV was wider, but this one always felt more _genuine._

This night, Akechi sits on the middle-most bar stool, casually sipping at his coffee and watching Akira idle about. Often enough, their conversations would drag on well into the night and Akira, having finished all there could be done in the café, would hang up his apron and sit next to the detective. Akechi had been there about an hour and was on his second cup of coffee, Boss having left as soon as Akira returned and muttering something about the delinquent being able to close up shop by himself.

They had been talking about the merits of chocolate as a Valentine gift (Akira thought showering one's lover with gifts was very romantic, while Akechi was firm in that it was useless as the holiday was for spending time with a loved one, not trying to buy their affection). Akira, distracted by how off-guard Akechi was, how much he freely smiled and laughed when Akira would crack a joke, didn't notice the empty glass in the way of his gesturing arm before it shattered on the floor.

     "Oh, shit. Give me a moment to clean that up," he says. Crouching low, he begins to pick up the larger pieces. The tip of his finger catches on one shard and he curses, pulling his arm in close.

     "Are you alright?" Akechi asks.

     "Yeah, I'm fine. Just cut myself a tiny bit." The cut is quick to bleed, drops welling up. He stands back up and hears a sharp inhale; Akechi's eyes are transfixed on his finger, his tongue absently swiping against his lower lip.

The hair on the back of Akira's neck stands straight up.

Was the café cooler than normal, or was it just him?

He pops his finger into his mouth and glances over at Akechi, who looks absolutely stricken.

Flirting was never out of bounds for Akira; he would flirt with the detective almost every time they ran into each other, and Akechi would either politely ignore it or sometimes respond back with an equally flirtatious quip, before returning the conversation back to that of a friendly, non-sexual and non-romantic nature. Akira didn't mind. But he also wanted to get into Akechi's pants, and this looked like the perfect opportunity to try.

So he slips his finger in farther and sucks, hard. He thrusts the digit in his mouth several times, before pulling back and letting go of it with a loud, wet pop.

     "Want a taste?" He jokes, a smile cracking on his lips.

Akechi stares. His hands hold onto with counter with a white-knuckle grip, his eyes darting between the finger (now wet with spit and distinctly lacking any trace of blood) and Akira's mouth.

Faster than he's able to react, Akechi grabs his head with both hands and tugs him close, smashing their mouths together. Akira has to put one hand on the counter in front of him to steady himself, his other reaching up and threading through Akechi's hair.

A tongue runs along the seam of his lips. Akira barely represses a shiver and opens his mouth, all too eager to let Akechi lick into his mouth, slide his tongue against his. Their teeth clank and Akira lets out a small, breathless laugh. Akechi drinks in the noise, pressing even closer with enough force to bruise. He then pulls back the tiniest bit to capture Akira's bottom lip between his teeth. Akechi bites down just hard enough for Akira to gasp in pain, then replaces teeth with tongue. He tastes a hint of blood in Akechi's mouth.

All too soon, Akechi pulls back. Wordlessly, he takes out his wallet, throws some money on the counter, and speed-walks out, avoiding meeting Akira's eyes. Akira's too stunned to move, his brain rushing to catch up. Was that the wrong move? Akechi did instigate the kiss; did he simply change his mind?

Akira idly traces a finger over his lower lip. The digit comes back covered in sticky blood.

Akechi doesn't return for another few nights. On the second night, Akira thinks to text him...only to realize they had never exchanged phone numbers. The third night he notices a wistful longing in his chest. He's almost ready to close up shop, walk down to the public prosecutor's office and apologize to Akechi on the fourth night, when speak of the devil, the teen himself returns. His face is perfectly manicured into the picture of calm and collected. Akira can't decide whether he wants to kiss him or get upset at the way Akechi doesn't even acknowledge what happened between them.

He makes him a cup of coffee instead.

The detective tells him of how work picked up, of his recent late nights working in the office on frivolous paperwork on cases that really didn't peak his interest. He's much too interested in catching the Phantom Thieves, after they made Kaneshiro, a yakuza boss even the police had trouble touching, confess.

Akira smiles to himself. Trying to romance one the Thieves' largest enemies was not high up there on the list of things he should be doing. But he figures it's okay since Ryuji's big mouth had a habit of outing the Thieves at every turn, so he ought to be allowed to flirt with danger. Literally and metaphorically.

Speaking of danger, Akechi pauses to sip at his coffee. It's the perfect timing, so Akira swallows his nerves and moves fast, before his courage has a chance to vanish. He brandishes a small pocket knife.

Akechi freezes, eyes almost imperceptibly widening a fraction. Akira takes the knife and swipes at his left palm, cutting into the flesh. It stings, but he bites his tongue before he can hiss in pain, dropping the knife onto the counter. Blood wells up and he shoves his hand towards Akechi, who can barely tear his eyes away.

     "Kurusu-kun," he warns, tone sharp. Akechi's hands are shaking as he puts down the coffee cup.

Akira doesn't respond, merely pushes his hand even closer to Akechi's face. The blood has begun to drip down the side of his arm.

Akechi takes hold of his arm and Akira feels Akechi's tongue more than he sees it. It's cold and wet, lapping at the red liquid trails before following it back to the source. Akechi's lips cover the wound and he _sucks._ Akira's legs start to wobble. The way Akechi drinks from his palm, his Adam's apple bobbing with every swallow, his tongue pushing the cut open when it starts to clot; it's erotic and dizzying and oh so hot. He's hard by the time Akechi pulls back, not yet letting go of his arm. The detective nuzzles against his fingers and looks up at him through thick, dark lashes.

     "Shall we continue this upstairs?"

It takes all of Akira's brain power to say "yes." Lucky for him, Akechi's there to pull off his apron and toss it on the counter, before holding his hand and leading him up into his own room.

Akechi's quick to lead Akira to the futon and push him down. He climbs on top of him and captures his lips in a fluid motion, sliding his tongue into Akira's pliant and open mouth. He tastes of copper and coffee. Akira's hands come up to rest on Akechi's back, his right hand dancing dangerously to the hem of his suit jacket.

The detective pulls back. Akira whines at the loss of contact and tugs at the Akechi's sleeves; he seems to get the message, as he slips the offending garment off before moving to lick at Akira's neck. There's a small bite, a mere spark of pain, that sends shivers down his spine, his fingers digging into the curve of Akechi's ass. The stinging on his throat is soothed by a tongue caressing his skin.

He nearly jumps when he feels cold hands under his shirt. Akechi tugs it up and off of him, throwing it somewhere out of sight. He tries to mimic the action with Akechi's shirt, but the buttons prove difficult. The teen above him lets out a soft laugh and sits back to undo them himself. The shirt is soon forgotten, when Akechi leans back in and his mouth lands on his chest, tongue licking at a nipple. Akira can barely stop the moan that spills from his mouth. Encouraged, Akechi latches on to the nub, sucking and worrying it softly between teeth. It hardens under his touch.

Akechi sinks his fangs into the skin right above his nipple, for a second, just enough to send sparks of mixed pain and pleasure down Akira's spine. He arches his back, pushing his body closer to the enigmatic sensation that is Akechi's mouth. "F-fuck..." Akira whimpers.

The bite barely bleeds; only a couple drops slide out, quickly lapped up by the detective. Akira grips Akechi's hips tightly and grinds upwards. He can feel Akechi's dick, hard through his pants. Speaking of which—"We both have too much clothing on."

The teen above him smiles, fangs visible. "I couldn't agree more." He slides off of Akira's lap and makes quick work of sliding everything off in one go, shucking off his gloves as well. Akira is left to struggle with pushing his jeans past his hips while still remaining on the bed.

     "Lube?" The detective asks.

     "Desk drawer."

When Akechi returns, Akira has fully stripped and settled himself at the top of his bed, back resting against the adjourning wall. The detective crawls over to him and runs his fingers through Akira's hair, guiding him into a lazy kiss. He licks into Akira's mouth and gently sucks upon his bottom lip, but it's slow and non-urgent. Akira takes his time in savoring Akechi's taste, the feel of his hand resting on the back of his head, the weight on top of him trapping him like a heavy blanket.

     "You're so cute like this, all pliant for me," Akechi whispers against his mouth. He traces a hand down Akira's side, fingers ending on his outer thigh.

     "Akechi..."

     "Hm?" The detective claims his mouth again. His tongue slides against Akira's, working in almost a thrusting motion. It's filthy and hot and the feather-light touches on his thigh only works to short circuit his brain. He can only think of the present, can only think of the teen above him. Akechi pulls back and Akira nearly pants in his face.

     "Fuck me," Akira says.

Akechi's eyes widen almost imperceptibly. The grin he gives is downright mischievous. "Oh?" The detective's hand glides over his outer thigh, rubbing at the skin on his abdomen, on his inner thighs—everywhere but his cock. "That can be arranged. Turn over."

The detective sits back just enough for Akira to roll over, face mushed against his pillow and ass in the air. Akechi doesn't give him much time to think about the vulnerability of the position; cold hands grab at and massage his cheeks. They squish and pull them apart, letting the cold air nip at his hole.

Akechi's tongue is no less cold than before, tracing a line from his ballsack to dip in the puckered skin of his asshole. He can't stop the full body shudder that runs down his spine, back arching. Akira lets out a small mewl. Akechi alternates between tracing circles and plunging his tongue past the first ring of muscle. "A- _kechi_ ," Akira says, breath hitching. "Please..."

The teen behind him shifts, tongue pulling out. Cold, wet fingers prod at him and Akira bites his lip when they slide into him. Akechi's other hand is a calming force on his outer thigh. He traces circles into the skin and whispers sweet nothings. Akira tries to listen to the words and forces himself to relax, to let the digits penetrating him stretch him fully. They brush against a spot deep inside; a moan tears itself from Akira's throat. The fingers curve into a hook and rub against it, another digit sneaking inside. He's barely cognizant of the fact that there's now three fingers inside of him—he's already been reduced to a begging mess, hands fisting in the blankets and hips canting back.

     "Akechi..." The name comes out on the tail end of a moan. "Please..."

     "Please what?"

     "Please...I need you..." The fingers inside him press even harder and Akira throws his head back, eyes shut tight. "I need your cock, please, please...!"

He vaguely hears a small chuckle from behind him. "Good boy," Akechi whispers against his ear. The digits withdraw and are quickly replaced by the press of something thick against him. Akechi's chest meets his back, a hand wrapping around Akira's midsection to keep him steady as he gently pushes inside.

The sensation is too much at first—Akira's pretty sure he sees stars. Akechi's fully seated. It's a heavy weight, pressing up against all of his nerve endings. It isn't until he lets go of a breath he wasn't aware he was holding that Akechi starts to move.

His hips rock forward at a nearly torturous pace. It's not enough; Akechi is thick and the way his body is stretched around him sends pleasure sparking right up his spine, but the friction, the drag of Akechi's cock against him isn't _enough._ "Faster," he rasps out.

Akechi doesn't listen. Instead, he licks at the shell of his ear. Akira tries to thrust his hips back, but Akechi's hand holds him still, fingers digging into the skin on his side.

     "Goro, please..." he tries. That seems to get a response, as the detective groans in his ear and begins to speed up.

The pace soon becomes nearly blinding. Akechi fully pulls out, only to slam entirely back in. They're both panting and Akira finds himself starting to unravel, fast. The detective shifts his knees slightly and suddenly, he's hitting Akira's prostate on every thrust. "Oh, fuck, yes, yes, please, _Goro._ " Akira turns his head and leans in to catch Akechi's mouth. His head begins to feel fuzzy with the way Akechi fucks into him, both with his dick and his tongue. His lower lip catches on a fang; Akechi growls into his mouth and sucks hard on it.

The detective pulls away all too soon, only to shift back and latch his fangs deep into Akira's throat. He doesn't have the brain power to be grateful for Akechi not tearing through his lip, the pain and pleasure deliciously mixing in his brain and overwhelming his senses. Akechi's hips stutter against his and he can feel Akechi's cock pulsing inside of him. It's enough to send him over the edge, vision whiting out and dick spurting onto the blankets below him.

When he comes back, Akechi is still inside of him, his tongue tracing and soothing the skin where he bit. They take their time to catch their breath. It isn't until the sweat on Akira's skin starts to evaporate that Akechi slowly pulls back. Without anything holding him up, Akira flops onto the bed, directly into his drying come.

He's barely aware of the detective getting up. A soft cloth slides against his skin—cleaning him up, he dimly realizes.

     "Stay," he mumbles. His voice is hoarse and sleep threatens to overtake him.

     "As you wish," Akechi replies. Akira slips into darkness.

\- - -

There's no one next to him when he wakes up. He panics, sitting up straight before his eyes land on the figure on his couch. It's Akechi, lounging in his clothes (he'll have to take advantage of that fact later) and scrolling through his phone. The detective notices his gaze and smiles softly at him. "Good morning."

     "Uhh," Akira starts. He isn't entirely sure on what he wants to say, so he settles on a small, "Mornin'."

They stare at each other for a couple of moments. Akira's the first to back down, glancing away. He scratches at his neck and winces at the small sting.

     "Do you always bite people during sex?" he asks.

     "Are you complaining?"

     "No, I liked it." It's his turn to stand his ground, watching Akechi meet his eyes without flinching. It's really, _really_ unfair that Akechi can keep so still—Akira's hands unconsciously play with the edge of the blanket. He realizes that he's still naked under the sheets, but at least Akechi had tucked him in. "Can I call you Goro?"

_That's_ what makes Akechi finally fidget, eyes glancing elsewhere.

     "You can call me Akira," he adds. He's sure that if Akechi could, he'd be blushing.

The detective stutters out a small, "O-okay," then, after some thought, adds, "Akira."

Akira's heart flutters in his chest.

**Author's Note:**

> pls yell at me on my tumblr (itshomobirb). thank.


End file.
